


green eyes and hellfire

by spyriteVestar



Category: Descendants (Disney Movies)
Genre: Gen, I started this immediately after watching Descendants 3, and now im just gonna break it into chapters, because gosh knows ive spent too long making it just 'a little longer', i don't even know what to tag, i just have a lot of feels about hades and mal okay, no beta we die like grammarless wretches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 09:11:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20927735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spyriteVestar/pseuds/spyriteVestar
Summary: Mal is a little girl on an island full of villains. And she does her best to follow in her mother's footsteps.But she remembers flickers of warmth, and the color blue.And sheburns.





	green eyes and hellfire

For as long as she can remember, there has been Mother. From flickering half-remembered feelings of glowing eyes staring, to the clear memories of tall curled horns and black fabric sweeping around a corner. Mother is the one who teaches her, and feeds her. Who will stroke an elegant hand over her head to tame her errant hairs. Whose praise she  _ aches _ for.

Mother is powerful.

Mother is strong.

Mother is all Mal has.

Except… 

Mother isn’t Mal’s whole world. She’s most of it, certainly. And almost every waking moment of Mal’s young existence has been spent trying to learn from her.

But.

But there’s a corner of Mal’s world that belongs to someone else.

She calls him Dad.

* * *

She remembers the color blue. A smile, that was always full of some emotion she could never name. A voice that crackled like flames; smooth and deep and low, and then loud and fast and bright.

She remembers feeling warm.

So, so warm.

* * *

Mal loves Mother deeply. She knows that Mother, too, loves Mal, in her own way.

But.

(There’s always a but, when it comes to Mother.)

But Mother is tall, and dark, and untouchable to Mal. She glows with fire, but that fire burns cold. She walks on the ground like she wants to conquer it, and her head is held high with her crown-like horns.

She loves Mal, loves her like any faerie would love their child, but.

But.

Mal is no faerie. She is half fae, with words that hold chains and a body made to fly. But she lacks the instincts of a fully fae child. She comprehends Mother’s affection, but her emotions do not respond to it as they should.

It is a bridge that neither of them can cross; Mother, with a faerie’s perception of the world, and Mal, with her half understanding of everything.

(She thinks it would be easier, if her other half had been human. Because there have been halfling children before, but there has never been a child like Mal.)

* * *

She sneaks out. Out the window and onto the rooftops, where she can see the whole Isle. It’s nighttime, but Mal has no fear of the dark. She moves from building to building, searching. She stays out until dawn begins to tint the clouds above, and then she returns home.

The next night, she goes out again. Searching, finding nothing, and then returning at dawn.

On the third night, her eyes catch on blue, and she finds him.

She races after him, following from above and watching where he goes. He walks quickly, but she is able to keep him in her sights, until she abruptly loses him as he turns a corner.

Her eyes scan the streets, but all of them are empty.

“Looking for someone?”

She whirls around, wide eyes finding him sitting casually next to her. He smirks at her surprise. “It takes a lot more than that to sneak up on me.”

“...It’s you.” She whispers, hope fluttering to life inside her chest. This close to him, she can feel the warmth radiating off of him. “You’re my Dad.” 

His smile melts away as he sits up, casual posture turning abruptly serious. He leans forward so he’s eye to eye with her. “I’m a lot of things, little girl. But I’m not your Dad.”

“Yes, you are.” Mal insists, glaring back at him.

“No. You may have my blood running through your veins, but I’m not your father.” He stands and turns, ending the conversation. And he’s  _ leaving again, _ and she feels panic stirring in her blood.

“No!” Mal shouts, running forward and grabbing onto his long jacket. “You’re wrong! I remember you!” She feels him pull against her grip, starting to walk away.  _ “I remember you. _ You sang to me.”

He stops. Mal bares her words like daggers, and pushes forward. “I don’t know the words, but you sang to me. And you were warm, and bright, and you  _ left.” _ The last word comes out harsh, and Mal sucks in a breath and forces the wetness from her eyes.

“I don’t know why you left, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re my Dad. I want to know you. I… I want to feel warm again... I want to hear you sing again.” The last word comes out choked. She sucks in a wet breath, and she can feel her eyes burning, so she closes them.

“Please.” She whispers so soft it’s almost drowned in the air, leaning forward to rest her forehead against him.

There’s a swirl of fabric, and then arms are pulling her into a tight embrace. “Alright.” He whispers, defeated. “You win.”

And Mal opens her eyes, burning with tears and fire, to see his own. They’re blue, but they burn hot the same way hers do.

“Thank you, Dad.” She whispers back just as softly, hugging him back.

It’s just as warm as she remembers.

* * *

Mother becomes more distant, as time goes on. On most days, Mal can find her on the balcony, staring out at Auradon. She just stands there silently, sometimes for days at a time, and Mal will sit with her at sunrise and sunset.

“It’s green there. Auradon.” Mother says to her one day as the dawn light colors the clouds. If Mal squints through the fog, she can almost see the sun coming up over the horizon. “Green with life and growth; great plains and forests that burst with vitality.”

Mal scrunches her nose slightly, imagining it. Tries to replace the grey concrete with greens and browns.

What a strange place Auradon must be.

“I think you would like the plants there.” Mother gives the ghost of what could be called a smile. “Some of them flower, and others have fruits you can eat right off the branches.”

“They’re the ones that eat sunlight, right?” Mal asks.

“Yeah.” Mother says so softly, it might be mistaken for an exhale. “I used to feed them my fire and watch them grow…” The expression on her face could almost be called wistful. “I think that’s what I miss the most. The plants.”

They watch the rest of the sunrise in silence.

* * *

Dad teaches her how to sing. She’s always had a good voice, strong and clear, like a shiny new bell tolling in a tower.

But he’s the one who shows her how to use it.

Mother is a faerie. From her, Mal learns words; how to tempt, and trap, and bind with them. She learns the power of a name, the difference between a fairy and faerie, and how to use words to create magic. Mother’s lessons teach her how to conquer.

Dad’s lessons teach Mal to create.

He shows her how to listen to the world around her, and then have it listen back. He shows her how to make things from nothing, and how to make illusions appear. And though there is no magic on the Isle, what they’re doing isn’t magic.

(Who would look at the power of a god, power that can create and destroy and everything in between, and call that magic? There are faeries and witches and djinns, but the gods were there first, and they’ll be there long after.)

They can’t meet often. Mother doesn’t like it when Mal spends time with Dad. She understands why, because Dad is one of the only people who ever interested Mother, and he chose to leave her. And like all fae, Mother is selfish, vindictive, and willing to hold a grudge for eternity. As he has slighted her, she slighted him; just as he took himself from her, she took Mal from him.

Mother forbade Mal from ever seeing or speaking to Dad.

But Mal is half fae, and she is selfish too.

(Or is the truth more simple? That for all her halves, what she wholly is, truthfully, is a girl who wants to know her dad.

Children have never cared for the logic of adults.)

Every Tuesday evening, when Mother is away with the Evil Queen, Mal secrets herself out of her window, onto the roof, over the next roof, and then down the crooked drainpipe; to where Dad waits for her. They go to his house, which has an incredible echo, and there he teaches her to sing.

He shows her the secret moments of the world, when everyone resonates with one another, and they sing and dance together as one.

“See, Mal?” His smile is warm when he looks at her, his eyes bright and clear. “The Fates weave our life threads into the world tapestry. And when the circumstances are right, those threads vibrate.” He grins wide, looking back out at the dancing figures spinning through the market. “And that’s when the world  _ sings.” _

“I think it’s pretty neat.” Mal watches two women spin around together, scarves and dresses blurring with one another to create a rainbow of fabric. “After all, when people sing together, they can make harmonies. Those sound nice.”

Dad laughs slightly. “Yeah, harmonies are pretty neat.” He leans back on the roof, eyes still on the singers. “When the world sings like this, that’s when you can do the most. As the threads vibrate, you can change the pattern they’re in. Add a knot here and there, loosen a weave, and voila, reality is yours to shape.”

Mal feels her nose scrunch up as she thinks. “But if we can shape reality when the world sings… then why haven’t you left the Isle?”

She looks back up at Dad, and he’s smiling at her. It’s a small smile, with his lips pressed together, and his eyes scrunching into crows feet. 

It’s softer than his other smiles, but sadder too. There’s an emotion painted on his face, and Mal doesn’t know what it is. She supposes if it were a color, it would be not quite green; because the emotion looks like it’s a happy yellow color, except it's also tinged blue with sadness.

“Oh, Mal.” He reaches out and ruffles her hair. It’s not delicate, like Mother does when she’s smoothing down strands. It’s a full head ruffle that scratches her scalp, and makes her hair poof slightly afterwards.

Mal loves it.

But like hell she’s telling Dad that, so she pouts and swats at his hand till he subsides with a chuckle. “Well?” She half asks, half demands. “Why haven’t you?”

That emotion shows up again as he tilts his face to the eternally cloudy sky. “Your mom doesn’t like the Isle.” It’s not a question, but Mal can tell that’s not the answer, so she just nods. “Before she lived on the Isle, she lived somewhere else. Somewhere better. Out in Auradon.”

“The Moors.” Mal says quietly, because she’s heard Mother speak about her homeland. It was a wide expanse of wilderness, filled with mischievous creatures and untamed plants. It was a treacherous place, and Mother spoke about it with a wistfulness that Mal thinks is love.

“Yes.” Dad agrees just as quietly, still staring at the sky. “But Mal, what if the place you came from was worse than the Isle?”

Mal can’t think of an answer, so she just grabs Dad’s hand and holds on tight. He doesn’t grab her own hand back, but he doesn’t move his away either.

They watch the singers leave.

* * *

When Mal turned five, she found a treasure. He was fast and good at climbing, smart and shrewd, and his spirit was as free as the wind. He stole as easily as he talked, his words flowing like silver, and when he looked at people, he could see through their lies the same way that Mal and Mother could.

And she  _ wanted. _

So she stole him.

But she underestimated him. He was an even better thief than she thought he was, because he ended up stealing her too.

They were both young, only just beginning to learn that there was a world outside of their parents’ shadows. But on the Isle, age was just a number. And both of them knew how to wield words. They swore loyalty to one another, with binding vows that the barrier made powerless.

Powerless, but not empty. Not when both of them meant every word.

Jay became her first friend. They hung out covertly for as long as they could--which for two children who had trained themselves to be stealthy, was a very long time--but eventually playing in the shadows grew dull, and so they stepped into the sunlight. (The metaphorical sunlight, since this was the Isle, and the constant cloud cover meant that sunny days were few and far between.)

Together they struck fear into the marketplace, and paranoia into anyone with pockets. The other villainous children didn’t understand them, but they respected them, so they were left mostly alone.

Mostly.

One afternoon when they were out in the marketplace stealing and painting and laughing, they were approached by a girl with an offer.

Like Jay, she was clever, strong, and knew her way around words. But something in Mal scorned Uma where with Jay it had wanted, and so Mal turned her away with cruel words and a mocking  _ “Shrimpy.” _

Jay didn’t understand her decision, but he respected her, and didn’t go against it. But Mal was still confused at why she had immediately disliked Uma so intensely.

So she went looking for answers.

“Ursula’s daughter, huh?” Dad leaned back in his chair, feet kicking up onto the armrest. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“What makes sense?” Mal demands, seven years old and already a spitfire. Dad just laughs and makes the face that means he thinks she’s being cute. Mal scowls at the sight of that face. She is many things, but cute is not one of them.

(Although this is Mal’s opinion, it is untrue.)

“Well, you guys have got opposing affinities. I’m kinda impressed the girl was able to fight past them to talk to you, but halflings have always been good at ignoring their instincts when it’s convenient for them.”

“Dad.” Mal growls. And there’s that face again.

Dad is the worst.

“Okay, okay, I’ll explain.” He makes a sort of placating gesture with his hands, so Mal shoves aside his feet so she can sit on the armrest. He smirks at her.

Asshole.

“So your mom is a fae with what alignment?”

“Draconic.” Mal answers promptly, albeit with an eye roll, because Dad knows this already.

“Right. Dragons are naturally creatures of fire. And I am me.” He makes a gesture that sort of looks like a really slow, lazy jazz hand. “So also fire. As such, our kid, i.e.  _ you, _ is what affinity?”

“Fire.” Mal answers, starting to see where he’s going with this. “And even though I’m a halfling, since both of my parents are fire aligned, that means my instincts regarding that aspect of me are amplified.”

“Correctamundo!” He flips his ember idly in his hand as he smirks at her. “Now what does that have to do with Uma?”

“...Her mom is Ursula.” Mal says slowly, her thoughts whirling into order. “Who’s a  _ sea _ witch, which means a water affinity. As long as her dad didn’t have a fire or electric affinity, that means Uma would be water aligned. And even though she’s a halfling, my instincts would still notice, which they _ did,  _ and that’s why I don’t like her!”

“Ding ding ding! And we have a winner!” Dad announces grandly. “Therefore, your next course of action is?”

“What do you mean ‘course of action?’” Mal rolls her eyes at him. “My curiosity has been satisfied. Case closed.”

“Oh, Mally, Mally, Mally.” He tuts at her, shaking his head slowly and dramatically. “You  _ publically humiliated _ a girl who is not only a siren Halfling, but one with an affinity that directly opposes your own. And you’re just gonna leave her on her own to do whatever she wants?”

Mal pauses just long enough for her thoughts to catch up, and realize  _ oh shit. _ And then she was racing out of Dad’s lair, to the sound of his amused laughter echoing off the walls.

* * *

“Do you regret it?” Mal asks Mother only once.

“Never.” She says, eyes on the clouded horizon. Where twice a day, sunrise and sunset, the sunlight is low enough that it isn’t obstructed by the clouds. “Remember this, Mal. You must never doubt, never regret, and  _ never  _ apologize.”

* * *

“I’m sorry, Uma.”

The girl whirls around, from where she’s sitting at the edge of the dock. As her eyes settle on Mal, an angry scowl crosses her face. Even now, something in Mal recoils from her, but this time around she forcefully squashes the feeling down.

“Is this a joke?” Uma asks, eyes darting around to look for others.

“No. I was wrong, and I’m sorry.” Mal holds out a hand to the girl. “You don’t have to forgive me, but I owe you an apology for what I did earlier.”

“...People on the Isle don’t apologize.” Uma said slowly, looking between Mal’s face and outstretched hand. At least she doesn’t look angry anymore.

“Yeah. Because regretting your actions is a weakness.” Mal’s lips quirk up in a half smile. “But as someone once said to me, there’s power to be found in a sincere apology.”

Uma doesn’t move for another moment, then slaps Mal’s hand away. “I don’t need your help to stand.”

“Okay.” Mal bites her lip as she considers what else she can say, then mentally shrugs and turns to leave.

“Wait.” Uma stands. “We’re not gonna be friends.” She steps closer so they’re face to face, something hesitant in her expression. “But I don’t think we have to be enemies either.”

Mal smiles, and holds out her hand again. “Allies?”

“Friendly rivals.” Uma shakes her hand.

* * *

The first time Dad says it, only a week or so since she found him again, she thinks she’s misheard him.

“What?”

He screws up his mouth as he fiddles with his ember, but he repeats himself. “I’m sorry for leaving.”

Mal feels frozen. Apologies are for the weak, so why is Dad… why…

“What?” She numbly asks again.

“Heh. Making me say it three times.” Dad finally looks up to meet her eyes, the press of his mouth turning his face tired. “I’m sorry for leaving you. I don’t regret it, but I am sorry.”

She doesn’t understand.

“Why are you apologizing? That’s a weakness!” She yells at him.

“Nah.” He chuckles. “There’s a special kind of strength and power that can come from a sincere apology. And even though I don’t regret it, when I say I’m sorry, I mean it.”

“What can… How can you be sorry for something you don’t regret?!” She shouts at him, the words bouncing off the walls in an angry chorus.

“There’s a difference between regretting something and being sorry for it. I don’t regret it, because if I had to do it again, I would.” His stare keeps her pinned in place. “But it wasn’t fair to you, and I  _ am _ sorry for that.”

“If you were sorry, then why didn’t you come back?” Mal knows she’s getting angry, but she doesn’t care. “Why didn’t you try to meet me? Why did you only start talking to me after I found you?!”

Dad stands up, crosses the room, and crouches down in front of her. Mal presses her lips together and holds her glare steady. He meets it evenly with his own cool stare, and then holds up his ember.

Which bursts into flames.

“Wha--” Mal flinches back, eyes wide and shocked. “That--that’s magic! What the hell, that’s  _ magic!” _

“No.” He says quietly. “It’s not.”

Mal eyes both him and the stone, because it sure as hell  _ looks _ like magic. But Dad hadn’t lied to her yet, so she was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Then what is it?” She mulishly asks, settling back down while crossing her arms.

“Tell me, Mal.” He asks conversationally, fire still burning bright blue in his hand. “Do you know what I am?”

...Well gee, could you ask a vaguer question? Mal thinks, annoyed.

“...my Dad?” She says the first answer that pops into her head.

“Well, yes.” He rolls his eyes and cracks a grin, before shaking his head and letting the serious air resume. “But no. I meant more in the sense of humans, djinn, fae, etc.”

Oh. Well, she knew the answer to that.

“A god.” Mal had known somewhere in the back of her mind that technically speaking, Dad was the god of the Underworld. But on the Isle, most of their titles had fallen to the wayside; becoming nothing more than empty reminders of glory days far behind them. Fae, djinn, sirens, enchantresses; the barrier had rendered them all powerless.

“Exactly. I am a god. So although I can do magic-- _ outside the barrier--” _ He mutters, with the same annoyed expression all the magic users share. “--what _ this _ is--” He shakes the ember for emphasis. “--is a godly act. Or miracle. People call them both.”

Mal could read between the lines of what he was saying. Miracles weren’t magic. Therefore, the barrier didn’t affect them. Which was awesome and incredible, but also completely unrelated to what they’d been talking about before.

And Mal wasn’t gonna let him divert the subject that easily.

“What does this have to do with you leaving?”

“Well, the leaving was more due to your mom.” His face twists slightly as if remembering something awful. Honestly, the less Mal has to know about Mother and Dad doing…  _ stuff,  _ the better. “But the whole not coming back or meeting you thing? That was because of my nature as a god.”

“Your nature as a god, huh?” Mal dryly repeats. “I’m so sorry that being able to use magic, or miracles, or  _ whatever, _ was so hard on you that you had to stay away.” Dad shakes his head at her response, pain beginning to color his expression. He extinguishes the fire of his ember, and holds out a hand.

“Mal.” She stares at him warily, eyes darting between his outstretched hand and his face. “You are the first child I have ever had. You are brilliant, and creative, and one day you will take this world by storm.” She bites her lip, and then thinks, _ screw it, _ and places her hand in his own. “But you are mortal.”

He places the ember in her hand, and then cradles that hand between his own. The ember slowly begins to glow, growing brighter with each second. She stares at it, before Dad starts talking, catching her attention. “The barrier can do many things, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m immortal. No matter how long I spend with you, no matter how much I grow to love you... I will outlive you.” The ember slowly starts flickering, in the corner of her vision, but Mal can’t tear her eyes away from his own pained pair. “So I took the coward’s way out. I would just never get to know you. Never love you to the point that your death would hurt.” He sighs. “But…”

“But?”

He smiles and brings their hands up higher. Mal blinks and looks down, only just now realizing that the ember is on fire. And she’s holding it. As it’s on fire.

Awesome.

“Miracles happen.” He whispers it like a secret. “And in this case, you just had to go and change my mind.”

“How did I change your mind?” She asks, breathless as she stares at the ember. She can feel the heat of the fire in her hands, but it doesn’t hurt. It feels wonderful. And empowering, like she could fly if she really wanted to.

It sounds like it’s humming.

“You remembered me singing to you. You said that I was bright and warm, and that you wanted to know me.” His hand is warm where it rests on her head. “You called me ‘Dad.’ What kind of father can ignore their kid saying that to them?”

* * *

“Who’s the boy?”

Mal rolls her eyes from over by the record player. She pulls the spindle from the repeating track, stopping the growling barks. By the stairs, Jay’s eyes are wide as he stares at Dad.

“Holy shit, that’s Hades.” He breathes out.

Mal supposes this reaction is to be expected, what with Dad’s status as one of the Isle’s most powerful residents. Apparently his reclusion from the public eye makes him a mysterious and exciting figure. Personally, she thinks it makes him the Isle’s resident old hermit.

“Dad, meet Jay. Jay, this is my Dad.” She walks over to stand next to Jay, crossing her arms and giving Dad a _ don’t-screw-this-up _ look.

He ignores her, of course, striding over to stare down at Jay. “So. You’re Jafar’s boy, huh?”

Jay juts his chin out stubbornly, posture suddenly straining upwards as he tries in vain to match Dad’s height. “Mal’s friend, actually.”

They stare each other down for an extended moment; long enough for Mal to contemplate shoving the both of them over, because they’re being such  _ guys _ . Then the stare breaks, and Dad reaches out to clap a hand over Jay’s shoulder.

“Good answer, kid.” He grins down at him. Jay grins tentatively back.

* * *

“Wait.” Jay scrunches his eyebrows as he turns to look at her. “Does this mean that you’re technically a god?”

“Sort of.” Mal shrugs. “Technically I’m a demigod, but Dad says that might change someday. I dunno, I just think of myself as a halfling. It’s easier.”

“Huh.”

“Now can you finish picking that lock?” Jay jolts, startled, glancing down as he suddenly remembers what they’re doing.

“Oh yeah, my bad.”

* * *

She’s out on the balcony again. Mal finds her there more often than not, these days.

“Goodnight, Mother.” Mal whispers. She squeezes Mother’s hand once, twice, three times, and then lets go.

“Goodnight, Mal.” She leans down, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of Mal’s head.

* * *

It goes like this:

Mal grows up, and people look at her and see a girl whose mother is distant and unloving to her halfling daughter. Who has no father, because no one could love her or her mother. Whose only friend is the thieving son of a liar; a boy whose loyalty is as fickle as the sands of the desert.

But people rarely see things as they are.

It goes like this:

Mal has a Mother who loves her fiercely, but who is not human, and will never show her love in human ways. But Mal is just fae enough to understand the love Mother gives her, and she never once doubts that Mother cares for her. Even if other people can’t see it.

Mal has a Dad who left her. Who came back when she called out to him. Who chose to stay this time, and learn to love his daughter. Their interactions stay secret, but Mal grows with the support of a father’s love. With someone she can talk to, and go to for advice. Who guides her as she grows into her own power.

Mal has a best friend in Jay, and a rival in Uma. The three of them play games of chess and checkers across the Isle, terrorizing its inhabitants with the merciless vigour of children who are growing up. And the people did get one thing right; Jay’s loyalty is like the sands of the desert. Vast and unending, made up of hundreds of smaller shifting parts, but together in a whole that remains constant no matter the weather.

It goes like this:

Mal is a little girl on an Isle full of villains. But Mal grows up, and she burns brighter each year. Until the girl isn’t so little anymore, but she’s not a woman yet. She’s somewhere in between; the child of villains who grew up singing and laughing and burning.

And no one on the Isle can see it, but in the tapestry of threads that links each of them together, a violet string burns  _ gold. _

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so I should probably be working on Gangs United, but my muse is a fickle being, and the third movie gave me SO MANY FEELS.


End file.
